Amara is not sure how her legs carry her back through the marketplace. She crosses Julia’s garden with her head down, hoping her friend will not see her, knowing she will be unable to hide her distress. It is not only the threat but the sudden sense of exposure that makes her feel ill. All those moments of vulnerability with Philos laid bare, seen through Felix’s scornful eyes. Her fingers fumble with the latch to her flat, and when she is inside, she collapses on a stool by the table. Her jerky movements wake Rufina who starts to howl. Amara tries to undo her tunic to feed her, but she is shaking so much that the baby is red-faced with rage before she manages it. As soon as Rufina is clamped to her breast, Amara starts to sob, is still sobbing when Britannica arrives back with their meal.

“What happen? Fighter is sick?”

“Felix,” Amara gasps. “He knows. He knows about Philos. Victoria told him.”

“Victoria.” Britannica bares her teeth, a look of utter ferocity on her face. “I tell you she better dead!”

Amara leans her head in her hand, still sobbing, unable to contradict her. “Felix said she begged my forgiveness.”

“I forgive her,” Britannica snarls. “When crows pick out her eyes.” She kneels on the floor beside Amara. “Let me kill him.”

They look at each other. There is no pretense between them that Britannica’s suggestion is anything but tempting. “It’s too dangerous. Victoria would know who did it. She would seek revenge.”

“I kill them both.”

Amara shakes her head. “I have to pay him.” Britannica swears in frustration. “I can’t risk losing you; I can’t risk the murder being linked to me. It’s not that I doubt you, but it’s too dangerous.”

“When you change your mind, I do it.” Britannica rises from her knees and towers over Amara, watching her and the baby. “And now, how we pay him?”

“I will sell the harp Rufus gave me. That will buy us a few weeks.”

“It was for Fighter’s dowry.”

“This is more important,” Amara says, turning her face away in shame. “If I don’t pay Felix, she won’t have the chance to get married, have a dowry, anything!”

Britannica smacks her palm against the wall. Her body is contorted with frustration, all the vengeance she cannot enact. “Is like being back there,” she says. And Amara knows exactly which place Britannica means.

Amara and Britannica barely speak for most of the afternoon. They are united by a sense of helplessness but little else. It is not only the money that crushes Amara’s spirit, but the threat to Rufina’s safety. Felix’s words play over and over in her mind, and she keeps stroking her daughter’s lunula, as if the charm will work its own magic protection.